


To Build a House

by thebakerstboyskeeper



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 14:46:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8921203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebakerstboyskeeper/pseuds/thebakerstboyskeeper
Summary: Belladonna Baggins always won the Baggins' Family gingerbread house contest. After her passing, Bilbo was more than content to let Primula take over. That is, until her pregnancy leaves an opening for someone else to come along and win.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bianjula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bianjula/gifts).



> For the lovely bianjula! I was going to do an Erebor AU, but these goofballs decided they wanted this instead. I hope you enjoy!

“Bilbo! I’ve got those little tea cakes from Dori that you like. Nori brought them to work.”

There’s no answer. Stepping into the front room, Thorin pauses. Usually, his husband is ensconced in the armchair, laptop open and fingers flying over the keys. “Uninterrupted writing time,” he calls it.

Thorin misses the sight.

“Bilbo?” he calls again.

The faint sound of Christmas music draws him back toward the kitchen. A spicy sweet scent becomes more prominent the closer he gets. Bilbo is baking, but why? 

“Bilbo?”

Thorin freezes in the doorway. Every surface - including the eat in dining table and chairs - is covered in candies and extremely large slabs of gingerbread.

A head of golden curls pops up over the island.

“There you are!”

Bilbo emerges with a baking sheet in his hands, even more cookie shapes upon it. Thorin thinks there’s no place for them to go, but Bilbo manages to find a spot.

“What is this? 

His husband’s brow furrows as he transfers the warm pieces to a cooling rack before dumping the empty sheet into the sink. He bustles about the room, taking stock of everything and peeking under towels draped over a myriad of bowls.

“What does it look like, Thorin? It’s going to be a gingerbread house.”

“But . . . what was wrong with the kit?”

Bilbo waves his hand distractedly over his shoulder.

“Not good enough.”

Thorin glances in the general direction of the gesture, catching sight of the boxed gingerbread house atop the refrigerator. How it actually managed to get up there is beyond him - though he believed that was beyond Bilbo's reach, but the man can be frustratingly determined when it hits him.

“This has to do with Lobelia, doesn’t it?”

The disgruntled sniff he receives in response to his question confirms it.

He waits.

“She came to tea with Prim and I - uninvited I might add - and went on about how it’s a disgrace no _true_  Baggins will be entering the contest this year. And that a Sackville-Baggins will rightfully take the trophy for once. Because she's a 'true' Baggins. Of course, she’d have no chance if Primula weren’t about to pop, but . . . she cannot have that title. She was always jealous of my mother, insisted they were store bought, same with poor Prim. I’ll show her.”

Thorin coughs back a laugh. He’ll never understand how that vile woman manages to worm her way under Bilbo’s skin every time, nor how she manages to irritate Thorin each time they come in contact, but what’s done is done and he’ll help his husband tromp her with glee. With the stories Bilbo tells of helping his mother with her creations and his own architectural degrees, they have this in the bag.

He pulls his coat off and sets the box of tea cakes aside. Rolling his sleeves up, he ventures into the chaos.

“Remind me to suggest to my family that our Christmas party conflict with yours next year.”

Bilbo nods. “We both know which one would be our first choice.”

~~

“Thorin!”

“Bilbo!”

“Just step back and let me do it!”

“You cannot have a round door there! It’ll collapse the entire thing!”

“No it won’t!”

“Are you building a mountain or a house?!”

“Thorin, either you help me or take your big know-it-all nose somewhere else!”

“Bilbo, I know what I’m doing--”

“If this was a real brick and mortar house, I would agree, but in this case, you don’t!”

Thorin is relegated to attaching shingles to the gingerbread roof slabs. He glares down at the pieces of cereal he is layering, waiting for the royal icing to harden slightly before moving on to the next row. Bilbo is focused on making trees to set in the yard with the green icing, his brow pinched in that way Thorin always loves to kiss.

_Not right now I don’t. Stubborn, infuriating little man._

Candy and powdered sugar coats both of them, as well as the table and counters. The Christmas radio station fills the silence between them with bright and overplayed songs. It’s part of the charm, his nephews would say. And Bilbo would wholeheartedly back them up.

As he lines the “shingles” with a piping bag for the look of snow, his frustration begins to wane. A gingerbread house is no reason to ruin a perfectly good evening. Not even if Lobelia Sackville-Baggins is the driving reason behind it.

The icing stops flowing through the tip of his bag. He twists the top tighter, trying to dislodge whatever is preventing him from completing his job. When that doesn’t work, he shifts to the side of his project and tries to force the clump through.

“How’s it going over he--”

In picture perfect timing, Bilbo leans over his shoulder just as the bag explodes. The white frosting splatters everywhere, its thin consistency ensuring a wide radius of disaster. Thorin turns to his husband, blinking a glob away from an eyelash to see Bilbo’s face flecked with white dots. A large smear cuts across his nose and eyebrow as his dusty blue grey eyes stare at Thorin in shock.

Laughter bubbles in Thorin’s throat. He can feel the icing all over his own face. No doubt it is clumping in his beard and hair. Bilbo looks so surprised, he can’t resist the guffaws that escape. He turns to fully face the smaller man, tugging him down for a sugary kiss.

“Now look what you’ve done. This will take ages to clean and we're not even gotten close to finishing!” Bilbo says, breaking away.

“Bilbo,” Thorin breathes.

“Yes?”

“Stop talking.”

Bilbo’s hands tangle in Thorin’s hair, pulling him close for another kiss.

“Urgh, there’s frosting in your hair.”

“I think we can fix that.”

They stumble upstairs to the shower. It takes a while to scrub away all the icing, their skin sticky underneath it. Once each of them has been satisfied the other is sufficiently clean, they make their way to the bed.

“The kitchen is a mess. And the house isn’t finished.”

Thorin cuts Bilbo off with another kiss. Collapsing on top of the mattress, their hands are greedy as they map out the familiar planes, mouths and whispered words trailing behind.

In the small hours of the morning, they make their way back to the kitchen. Thorin watches his husband from across the table, helping when asked or interrupting with more kisses when it looks like Bilbo needs them.

They transport an alarmingly large Victorian gingerbread manor to Grandfather Baggins’ home that next evening. The numerous cousins ooh and ahh over it. It dwarfs every other house there.

And when they return home that night, the first place prize in Bilbo’s hands, Thorin cleans the kitchen for him. Though he leaves the wayward smudges from last night for another time.


End file.
